


Doesn't Mean it Should Be

by ChokolatteJedi



Category: Australia (2008)
Genre: Australia, Canonical Racial Slurs, Character Death, Destruction, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Insane with Grief, POV Minor Character, Presumed Dead, Racial Tension, Racism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-21
Updated: 2012-08-21
Packaged: 2017-11-12 12:32:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/491065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChokolatteJedi/pseuds/ChokolatteJedi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ivans point of view of the Drover and Magarri coming to his pub after the destruction of Darwin</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doesn't Mean it Should Be

Ivan was halfheartedly trying to sweep up behind the counter when the Drover stumbled in. He knew immediately why the man looked so bad, worse even than the young soldier boys on the porch. Ivan had seen the flames at H.Q. from across town.

As his ever present sidekick jumped up onto the porch, Ivan said without thinking, "Hey, no boongs in here!" He stopped outside the door, as he always did, but his expression was different: sadder.

The Drover turned slowly to look at his friend, and Ivan expected the usual reply. Instead, the man turned back towards him, and Ivan blanched a little at the naked pain and bitterness on his face. "You didn't say that, did you?" he asked, his voice like one dead. Like one who had nothing left to lose.

Ivan didn't know what to say to that dead man. That's just what he always said. That's just how it had always been. "That's how it is."

"Just because it is – doesn't – doesn't mean it should be." The Drover stumbled over the words, and Ivan wondered if they were something the Lady had said. It sounded like her. "Serve him a fucking drink!" And that sounded like the Drover.

He said something to his friend in their native language, and the man took a nervous step inside. Ivan said nothing. None of the others, huddled in the back and trying to forget what they had just seen this day, said anything either. The boong took off his hat and walked all the way to the bar.

Ivan caved. "Aaah, what does it matter?" He plonked a glass and a cup onto the bar and then turned to get the Poor Man. "I'm a totally bloody ruin. I'm evacuating south like everybody else."

"You're short one glass." Ivan stared at the Drover, ashamed on his behalf for the naked tears that rolled down his face. He glanced away, around the bar, to avoid that dead stare. "One… more… glass."

With a nervous swallow, Ivan complied. He didn't want to anger the Drover; the way he was acting right now, Ivan didn't think he could survive his wrath. He began to pour "I leave this place for the looters and the Japs." He declared, grabbing another glass for himself. He needed fortification as much as the others. "Why not the Boongs?"

The Drover didn't object to his phrase, and all three drank together. They each set their glasses down, and Ivan began to refill them. "I saw her this morning, before she went to the work." If he kept talking, then he probably wouldn't end up crying like the two of them. "She was so happy. She was gonna get that…" He eyed the crying boong and decided to change his phrase, "little boy and go south."

For the first time that night, a bit of life entered the Drover's eyes again and he stared at Ivan. "What about the children on Mission Island?"

Ivan snorted. "The creamies? They are left out there." As though these people would have cared about those children.

"They left them out there?" The Drover looked like he couldn't believe it, though his friend was simply sad and accepting.

With one eyebrow slightly raised, to show how he felt about the comment, Ivan added, "Safe in the hands of God." That was what they always said.

The Drover still couldn't seem to get over the idea. "They left them—"

Ivan sighed and downed his glass again. "They say, the island was hit first. They say no one would have survived."

"They say a lot of things." The Drover looked up at Ivan, and Ivan again saw the man who started fights in his bar. "We're going."

He slammed down his last shot and then turned to go, the other right behind him. Ivan watched them for a moment. They were going to the Island, he knew: going to get all those little creamies. Why did they care?

Unbidden, he heard the Lady's voice in his ear. _I'll miss you too, Ivan!_

She would want them to get her little boy.

Before he even knew what his feet were doing, Ivan found himself on the porch. "I coming too," he declared.


End file.
